Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale (10 page)

“Where’s the wolf?” Landon asked, scanning the field.

“I saw him for only a second. “He had glowing red eyes and fangs that were this big,” said Daniel, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. “He was going to eat me.”

Landon exhaled heavily before turning back to face me. “You were right.”

“It’s not about being right,” I said. “This is the world Aunt Tillie created. We could leave this field a hundred times. Each one of those times he’s going to try to stop us by screaming and carrying on about wolves. We’re never going to see a wolf. Not in this tale.”

“I’m sorry,” Landon said. “I should have left.”

“You’re not the type of person who abandons someone,” I said. “Even when you didn’t know me, you never abandoned me. I seem to keep forgetting that. You got shot for me, and you had no idea what kind of person I was.

“I know you want to save everyone,” I said. “That’s not what’s happening here, though.”

“I know,” Landon said, weary. “Let’s get moving. I’m sure there are other horrors waiting around the next bend.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” I teased.

“It is,” Landon agreed, grabbing my hand.

We were almost back to the trees when Daniel decided to speak again. “Wait … you’re not going to leave me here with the wolf, are you?”

“I guess so,” Landon replied, refusing to turn around. “Try to stay safe, kid.”

“But … .”

Daniel didn’t finish whatever he was about to say. Instead, he let loose with a blood-curdling scream. Even though I knew it was a game, I couldn’t stop myself from turning around. Instead of Daniel’s mischievous smile, though, I saw his look of terror as a large monster descended on the boy.

“Holy crap!”

Landon whipped around, stunned.

The wolf paid us no heed, instead grabbing Daniel around the waist and hoisting him over his shoulder. Daniel was right. This was no normal wolf. It walked on two legs and its eyes were … human. They were full of malevolence, although they weren’t glowing and red, but they were still human.

“Help me,” Daniel screamed, pounding on the wolf’s back.

We couldn’t do anything but stand there, though. We were frozen in place and we watched the wolf carry Daniel into the woods. Just like that … he was gone.

If a wolf can fool you by putting on a nightcap and glasses, you’ve got bigger problems than the wolf. That also means you’re either blind or stupid. I’d rather fight a wolf than be stupid.

–
Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up

“What just happened here?”

I was at a loss for words.

“What just happened here?” Landon repeated, turning to face off with me. “You said there was no wolf.”

“I … .”

“That looked like a wolf to me.”

“Calm down,” Marcus said, pushing between Landon and me. It was a useless move. Landon would never put his hands on me, but his face was so red with anger I didn’t blame Marcus for being worried. “We all thought he was the boy who cried wolf.”

“What are you doing?” Landon asked, looking Marcus up and down. “Do you really think I’m going to hurt her?”

“I’m worried that you seem a little … intense,” Marcus said.

Landon faltered. “I would never hurt her.”

“I know, man,” Marcus said, taking a step back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought that.”

“It’s this place,” Thistle said. “The longer we’re here, the more it’s messing with us. Aunt Tillie knew what she was doing when she cast the curse.”

“It’s not only the worst parts of ourselves that are coming out now,” I said, wrapping my hand around Landon’s wrist briefly. When I moved to pull it away he placed his other hand over it and held it there. “We’re taking on characteristics of the story characters themselves now.”

“When did you figure that out?” Clove asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a little while, I guess. It’s the reason I feel as if I’m going to start crying. Aunt Tillie always said the women in most fairy tales were weak.

“I think it’s also the reason Thistle is getting … grumpier … as we go on,” I continued. “She’s turning into a … villain.”

“Is that what’s happening to me?” Landon asked, worried.

“I don’t know,” I said. “The men in the stories are … different. There’s more room for conflict. I mean, think about it. Snow White, Cinderella, Rapunzel … all of them … what do they have in common?”

“They’re all good,” Clove said.

“They’re also weak,” I said. “Snow White doesn’t save herself, the prince does. Cinderella doesn’t tell her stepmother and stepsisters where to stick it, because the prince saves her. Rapunzel sits in that tower for years waiting for a man to save her. All they do is sit around and wait for someone to save them.”

Landon moved his hand from mine and pulled me closer to him, resting his face against the side of my head. “I don’t know what to think about that.”

“I think the curse is latching on to certain parts of our personality,” I said. “That’s why Thistle is getting grumpier. That’s why Clove is getting whinier. That’s why I’m getting more … uncertain. The longer we’re here, the more our personalities are going to change.”

“This is such crap,” Landon said, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to have to kill your Aunt Tillie. You know that, right?”

“That’s probably why you’re turning into a villain, like me,” Thistle said.

“We need to keep moving,” I said. “Any detours we take, we need to make a plan and get through them.”

“Are we leaving that kid to be eaten by a wolf?” Landon asked.

“He’s not real,” I said. “He’s not being eaten. He’s not feeling pain. He’s a fictional character.”

“Okay,” Landon said, giving in. “Let’s keep moving.”

As everyone turned to file back to the path Landon kept me close. “I can’t turn into a villain,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” I said. “I have faith. You’re just … emotionally charged right now.”

“I feel out of control.”

“We all feel out of control.”

“I would never hurt you, Bay,” Landon said. “You know that, right?”

“I know that.”

“Marcus didn’t seem to,” Landon said bitterly.

“Marcus is dealing with the same thing we are,” I said.

“Do you think he’s becoming a villain?”

I shook my head. “He’s too mellow. I think the only reason some of that stuff is starting to happen to you is because you’re strong … and bossy.”

“You’re bossy, too.”

“Not like you and Thistle. Things will only get worse before they get better,” I said.

“I love you, Bay,” Landon said earnestly.

“I love you, too.”

“I’m still going to kill your Aunt Tillie.”

“We’re all going to kill her,” Thistle called from the front of the formation. “You’re going to have to get in line.”

“I am the line,” Landon replied.

“No way … oh, come on,” Thistle said. “Get up here.”

Landon and I increased our pace, and when we walked out of the woods we found a red cape hanging from a tree branch next to the path. Everything else was the same except for the new clothing item.

“Red Riding Hood,” Marcus said, looking the cape up and down. “What do you think? Should we leave it here and keep going?”

“No,” I said, an idea forming. “Thistle needs to put it on.”

“Why me?” Thistle whined.

“Because you’re becoming a villain,” I said. “You need to be the hero again to ward off those inner urges of yours.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I admitted. “It’s just a feeling.”

“Her feelings have been right so far,” Landon said. “Put it on. Maybe it will lead us to the wolf and … Daniel.”

Thistle scowled. “If I get eaten by a wolf I swear I’m going to come back and haunt you for the rest of your lives.” She grabbed the cloak and swung it over her shoulders, tying it around her neck before planting her feet on the brick road. “Bring it on, wolf!”

I swallowed my upper lip with my lower to keep from laughing, risking a glance at Landon, who didn’t bother hiding his smile.

Thistle cocked her head to the side, waiting. “Where is it?”

“Maybe we have to keep walking,” I said. “It would be anticlimactic if the wolf simply jumped out of the woods immediately and attacked you.”

“I guess,” Thistle said.

We picked up our trek, Thistle leading the way with Marcus close on her heels. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

“Do you think we’re going to Grandma’s house?” Clove asked. “This is Aunt Tillie’s story, after all. Maybe we’ll finally get to meet her.”

“I keep forgetting you guys never got a chance to meet your grandmother,” Landon said.

“Aunt Tillie was our grandmother,” I said. “Although we were told if we ever called her that we’d have our mouths glued shut for a month – and she was going to use actual glue.”

Landon snickered. “That sounds like her.”

He was making an effort to embrace the lighter side of things right now, visions of mustache-twirling dancing through his head as he fought to keep himself calm even though he really wanted to find the wolf that took Daniel and beat it to a pulp. I squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“You’re not a villain,” I said. “You’re a good guy. You’re the best guy.”

He smiled. “You don’t need to coddle me, Bay. I understand what’s going on here and I’m determined to … stop being a douche. It’s going to be okay.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Thistle said. “You’re not the one wearing the red cloak of death waiting for the wolf to jump out at you.”

“I don’t think it’s going to jump out at you,” I said, pulling up short and fixing my attention on the cabin that had mysteriously popped up along the road seconds before. “I think it’s in there.”

“Oh, good,” Thistle said. “It’s Grandmother’s cabin.”

“Are we all going in together?” Clove asked, nervous.

“We’re not separating,” I said. “Thistle is taking the lead, and you and Sam can take up the rear if you want, but we’re all going in there.”

“Fine,” Clove said. “I just don’t want to fight a wolf.”

“Don’t worry,” Thistle said. “I think I’m going to be the one fighting the wolf.” She sucked in a breath and then veered off the road, heading straight for the cabin. When she got to the door she paused long enough to shoot me a look. “Do I knock?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Does proper etiquette even exist in fairy tales? The bears said I climbed right in their beds.”

“Good point.” Thistle turned the handle and threw open the door with as much dramatic flair as she could muster. “Grandma, I’m home!”

Clove giggled. “I think she’s having fun.”

She certainly looked as though she was enjoying herself.

Thistle stepped into the cabin boldly. “Where are you, Grandma?”

The replying voice was almost comical. It sounded as if a drunken trucker was trying to play a soap opera heroine. “I’m in here, dear.”

“Great,” Thistle said. “Just … hold on. I’ll be right there.”

We followed Thistle into the cabin and watched her scan the room. Finally, she strode to the fireplace and grabbed a metal poker, testing its weight before squaring her shoulders and facing the back of the cabin. A simple sheet closed it off from the rest of the cabin. We all knew what we would find in there when Thistle pulled back the sheet.

“Hit it fast,” Landon whispered. “Don’t give it time to talk.”

“This is my fairy tale,” Thistle said. “I haven’t gotten to see any animals talk yet. Let me have a little fun. The Goddess knows we could use it.”

“Let her go,” I said.

“Fine,” Landon said. “If you take too long, though, I’m going to step in and handle things my way.”

“You usually do,” Thistle said. She moved to the sheet and pulled it to the side, her face a mask of faux enthusiasm when she faced the bed occupant.

This world was full of odd things, but the sight of a wolf in a nightgown and nightcap, spectacles perched on its long snout, was almost more than I could take. It was like a bad sitcom. All we were missing was the laugh track.

“Hi, Grandma,” Thistle said. “How are you today?”

“I’m just fine, dear,” the wolf said. “Although … I am a little weak. You should move closer so I can get a better look at you.”

“I’m good here,” Thistle said. “You smell like you’ve been in that bed for a long time, and I’m afraid of bed bugs. They freak me out.”

The wolf was flummoxed. “But … I want to see you.”

“You’re not missing anything,” Thistle said, glancing around the makeshift sick room. “I look the same as I did the last time you saw me. I might be a little sweatier … and dirtier … but I’m pretty much the same.”

“I want to give you a hug,” the wolf said.

“I’m afraid of personal contact, so I’m going to have to pass on that,” Thistle said. “Hugs make me feel all wonky, like you’re trying to invade my personal space. I told you that last time I was here. Don’t you remember?”

“I … well … of course,” the wolf said. “It’s just that I like to hug.”

“You’ll survive,” Thistle said. “So, Grandma, what did you do today?”

“I … um … just laid in bed,” the wolf said. “That’s what I usually do.”

“No, you don’t,” Thistle said, embracing her role. “You usually knit for a few hours, and then you read some of those torrid bodice-rippers you love so much. Oh, and you like to shave your legs while you’re in bed, too. Can I see if you did that today?”

The wolf frowned. “I … no! What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Thistle asked. “You don’t look like the grandmother I usually visit. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would say you’re an imposter.”

“I’m not an imposter,” the wolf squeaked. “I’m your grandmother.”

Thistle arched an eyebrow. “Really? When’s my birthday?”

“I forgot.”

“What’s my mother’s name?”

“Mom?”

“Close,” Thistle said. “Try again.”

“Mommy?”

“Okay, enough is enough,” Landon said. “You’re wasting time. Kill it and let’s get going.”

“You always have to ruin my fun,” Thistle grumbled.

“You’re the only one having fun.”

“Oh, whatever.” Thistle whipped the fireplace poker from behind her back and brandished it in front of the wolf. “Where is Daniel?”

“Who is Daniel? What are you going to do with that?”

“I’m going to stab you with it,” Thistle replied.

“But … I’m your grandmother.”

“You’re a wolf in a nightgown,” Thistle said. “Who falls for this act, by the way?”

“Hey, this isn’t how this is supposed to go,” the wolf said, lapsing into a deeper voice and glancing around the room. “You’re supposed to come in and fall for my act. You’re supposed to comment on my eyes and nose … and I’m supposed to get more and more menacing … and then you’re supposed to scream while I eat you.”

“That’s not how the story ends,” Thistle said. “You get killed by … who does kill the wolf in that story? Is it the woodsman?”

“That sounds right,” I said. “I don’t remember.”

“This is all wrong,” the wolf said, shaking his head hard enough that the spectacles slipped down his snout. “You can’t change the story. That’s not how this works. You have to follow the script.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Thistle said. “This is my story. It became my story the second I put the cloak on. I can end it any way I want.”